


The Strings

by StupidGenius



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Artist Derek, Cora and Laura are good sisters, Derek is kind of a mess, Good Peter, M/M, No non-con between any of the pairings, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles Stilinski Doesn't Know About Werewolves, background Allison/Isaac/Scott - Freeform, background Boyd/Erica, mentions past of rape/none-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-03-18 02:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3552791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StupidGenius/pseuds/StupidGenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh god." Derek groans, covering his hand with his face. Yes, he remembers now. Not only did he try and return bad fruit, he also opened five bags of chips and left them in the isle.</p><p>"Yeah."</p><p>"I'm so sorry. I'll pay for everything, I swear."</p><p>(EDIT(Dec. 01 2016): The first chapter has been rewritten)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One-Cracked Bulbs

**Author's Note:**

> I know i said I would post this on Tuesday, but i had to visit someone in the hospital and it took more time than i thought. But! Its up now, and the next chapter should be up soon.
> 
> (For those unaware, i originally posted this fic over a year ago, and decided to rewrite it.)

His head hurts.

It more than hurts. Pain pulses behind his temples along with every beat of his stupid heart, and he squeezes his eyes shut to keep the light from getting in. His throat still stings a bit, but that's what you get when you drink wolfsbane-spiked alcohol. It's expected. The scent of open paint cans about ten feet away from his head may also have something to do with it. He normally wears a mask in this place, but drunk-Derek must not have liked that idea.

He groans, squints his eyes open, and checks his phone.

Ten missed calls. All from either Laura or Peter. One voice mail from Laura.

" _Derek, where the hell are you? Peter says he sent you out for groceries hours ago and you still haven't come back. There aren't that many grocery stores in Beacon Hills, and it's not like they're that far away either, so get your furry ass back to the apartment before I need to send out a search party._ "

Shit.

"Laura," he croaks when he calls, "I -"

"Where the fuck have you been?" She growls. He winces. "We've been looking for you all damn night. Peter followed your scent to a grocery store and then it just fucking vanished.

He vaguely recalls a blurry face and blue apron.

"I fell asleep in my studio."

"You were drinking again, weren't you." She snaps. When he doesn't answer, she sighs. "Jesus, Der. This is the eighth time this month you've done this."

"I'm sorry." Feels like the best thing to say right now, but apparently it isn't.

"You said that last time." She whispers. Derek closes his eyes. Like that'll stop the guilt, somehow.

"Is Cora with you?"

"She didn't want to come. She's at Lydia's." There's a sound, like keys knocking against each other, and a car door opening. "Stay there. I'm coming to get you. I don't want you driving right now."

"I'm fine, Laura."

"You are _not_ fine."

There's no arguing with Laura when she's like this. Especially since she's his Alpha. He doesn't want his sister to have to see the mess he's made of himself though. The new splatters of paint on the studio of floor, paint drying in his hair and on his skin. The empty bottle laying on its side next to the couch. The painting he was working on that he's going to have to start over - again - because he ruined it in a drunken stupor - again.

Maybe he should stop trying to paint the people he killed.

"I'm fine right now. You don't need to get me, I have my car. Just - I'm going to the store. Do we need anything?"

It's silent for a moment, and then it's Peter's voice in his ear.

"Some fruit would be nice, seeing as that's what I asked you to buy before you disappeared last night."

Right.

"Okay. I'll see you at the apartment." He hangs up without waiting for an answer, letting out a shaky breath.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The lights are too bright. Everything's too bright. Who thought putting so many lights up on the ceiling was a good idea? Probably some hunter that liked torturing hung over werewolves. Or just werewolves in general.

"You're back." Someone says. Derek scowls, glancing to his left.

There's a Walmart employee only five feet away, arms full of whatever fat free, sugary snack he's supposed to be stacking the selves with. He's pale, and smells a bit like pain, brown eyes tired, but he smirks in Derek's direction like he knows something no one else does.  When Derek doesn't respond, he rolls his eyes.

"What, were you too drunk to remember?"

"Do I know you?" He goes with. The employee - his name tag reads 'Stiles', but there's no way that's his name - turns away from him, putting something up on a shelf.

"You were so hammered, dude."

"And you telling me that is _so_ helpful. Thanks so much, for that astute observation."

"You came in last night with a bag of moldy bananas." 'Stiles' tells him, putting a hand on his hip.  His palm is bandaged.

"Why the fuck would I do that?" He snaps.

A white mom glares at him, like her teenage son has never heard a curse word before in his life. Doubtful.

"I believe they weren't up to your standards." Stiles huffs. "I think the word you used was - hm. Subpar?"

And then it hits him.

_"Um." Derek hears. "Sir?"_

_Sir. Ha. Derek's never been called sir in his entire life. His dad, though - they called him sir, like, all the time._

_"I wanna return this." He tells the guy. Derek's only seventy percent sure this is an employee._

_"I'm sorry sir, but you can't. They've gone bad. I can't accept this. I'm not even sure you can return fruit, honestly."_

_"But I don't want them anymore." He holds them up to prove his point. "That's why I'm returning them."_

_"You can't return bad fruit."_

_"That's not fair."_

_"I'm...sorry? If you would like to buy more, they're that way."_

_"You don't understand." he has to make us guy understand. These bananas are bad. He doesn't want them anymore, and he shouldn't have to put up with them. "These bananas...these bananas are_ subpar. _"_

_"Sir-"_

_"I don't want them anymore more, I don'even like bananas!" he tells. "Peter does. He bought them, and he forgot about them, and left them in the car. It smells now."_

"Oh god." Derek groans, covering his hand with his face. Yes, he remembers now. Not only did he try and return bad fruit, he also opened five bags of chips and left them in the isle.

"Yeah."

"I'm so sorry. I'll pay for everything, I swear."

"Relax." Stiles moves closer, crossing his arms over his chest. Up close, his eyes look ridiculous, a mix of goods and browns Derek would love to paint. Beneath the pain, he smells like soap and sugar. It's not as strange as it sounds. "That's not even the craziest thing that's happened this week. It's all good." He smiles. "It was pretty funny watching a grown man that looks like he could snap me in half cry over fruit though, so, thanks for the entertainment I guess."

"Laura would torture me if she hears about this."

"Well, I don't really talk to Laura, so, maybe she won't. Now, need any help?"

"I'm actually here for fruit." He winces when Stiles huffs. "No attempts at returning rotten merchandise. I promise."

"I'll take your word for it." Stiles points behind him. "Bananas are back there, if you _really_ need em. Wouldn't want to disappoint your uncle Peter now, would we?"

 _I've already disappointed him_ , he thinks.

"Definitely not. Thanks."

"No problem. And, uh, Laura probably will hear about this. Small town, and all. I'm sure she has spies all over the place keeping an eye out for you.

Yeah. He was afraid of tha - wait.

"Do you know her?"

"I know _of her_. I, uh. I want to college with your sister. Cora Hale?" Stiles' shoulders tense a bit. "She probably doesn't remember me. We weren't friends, or anything, but I recognize those Hale Eyebrows."

"Oh. Well, you're probably right. I should - I should go."

"See you around, Derek."

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Derek gets back to the apartment, everyone's tense.

It's his fault, he knows. The nights where he disappears and doesn't talk to them are starting to outnumber the nights they know where he is, or that he stays home. Not even Peter got this bad in the years after the fire.

It's a strange thing, watching yourself lose control of your life.

When Derek sets the bags down on the counter, Cora finally snaps.

"I hate caring about you."

"Cora -" Peter starts, but Cora cuts him off.

"You have no idea what it's like, being here and worried about you while you're out being stupid. I hate it. I hate caring about whether you live or die, Derek, it's exhausting. I'm sick of being terrified that the next time I see you will be in a body bag, or torn to pieces because you were feeling reckless and waltzed right into a hunter's hands. So you better get yourself some help or commit my face to memory, because you won't be seeing me anymore."

"I'm sorry." Is all he can force out. There are tears in her eyes. In his eyes too, judging by the wetness on his cheeks.

"Get help." She whispers.

"You could go to Dr. Morrel." Peter suggest quietly. Laura nods.

He doesn't tell me it's no use, or that he doesn't think it'll work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two will up on Friday. Hopefully.


	2. Chapter Two – Oh Mother, Tell Your Children not to do What I've done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Isaac:**
> 
> **(Attached Image)**
> 
> **Devil Woman:**
> 
> **Gross**
> 
> **Get your cute partners away from me wtf**

Derek hasn't been here in almost nine years.

The grave stones are old, but taken care of. He can still faintly smell Cora and Peter in the air, Laura's scent clinging to the fresh flowers on the ground. He didn't know she still brought them.

"Mom, dad," he whispers, kneeling down, "I'm sorry."

_"Your Alpha tells me you've been having trouble lately."_

_"You don't have to do that." Derek says. Morrel's face stays annoyingly blank. Must run in the family, since Deaton is also just as annoyingly emotionless._

_"Do what?"_

_"Call her my Alpha. We don't run the Pack like that. She's my sister."_

_"Alright. You sister is concerned for you. Both of them are, and your uncle, along with the rest of your pack. Do you think they have any reason to be?"_

_"Shouldn't you be asking yourself that question?"_

_"I'm asking you." She crosses her legs. It's not a sign of impatience, because Morrel is never impatient. The two are completely opposite, not usually mentioned together. It's unnerving, how Derek can't get a read on her at all. "You can't help those who don't want it, Derek. So tell me. Do you believe you need help?"_

_"I don't know." He says after a moment. "Maybe."_

_"Is there anything you do that concerns you?"_

_"I drink a lot more, now, I guess."_

_"Why is that?" She doesn't look like she's judging him. Doesn't smell like anything. It's becoming very bothersome._

_"Shouldn't you be writing this down?"_

_"I takes notes after the session. It helps me focus on my patient." She clasps her hands together. "Do you think you drink to help you get rid of a specific feeling?"_

_"I don't feel anything." He snaps. "I don't want to talk about this."_

_"Okay." She leans back, watching him for a moment. "You can leave if you like, Derek. You don't have to be here. You don't have to talk if you don't want to. These sessions will only work if you're willing. Would you like to leave?"_

_Yes, he almost says._

_But then Laura's disappointed face flashes in his head. Hers, and Peter's, and erica and Isaac and Boyd and - and Cora's face, angry and tired when she'd yelled at him about how he needed to get help and pull himself together. He never thought he was that bad, but - is he? Does he really need this?_

_"No." he sighs._

_Morrel nods._

_She doesn't say anything afterwards, which Derek is starting to think is a just so she can get him to talk, because after a few minutes of silence, he says;_

_"I do feel some things."_

_"But you don't feel much?"_

_"Not anymore."_

_"What do you feel. Derek?"_

_"Guilt."  He finally admits._

_Guilt. Somehow, that's an understatement. If there were a word for feeling more than guilty, he'd be using it right now, because just that doesn't feel like enough. He's guilty, he's the reason everyone is miserable, he's done so much irreparable damage and no one knows. No one except her._

_"The fire wasn't your fault." Morrel says, softer than before. His claws dig into the meat of his palms._

_"Yes it was."_

_"It was Hunters, you know that. You were at school when it happened. There was nothing you could have done."_

_"It's my fault."_

_"Why do you believe that?"_

_"Because," he swallows. His tongue feels thick in his mouth, breath stuck in his throat. "Because I'm the one who let them in."_

The ground is cold and wet from recent rain and the mud stains will probably never come out of these jeans, but he doesn't care. It doesn't matter, because his mom and dad and cousins and brother will never feel the wet earth again. They'll never feel rain, never see another sunset, never breathe in the scent of grass and ozone again because they're gone.

They're dead.

And it's his fault.

 

 

* * *

 

**Isaac:**

**(Attached Image)**

**Devil Woman:**

**Gross**

**Get your cute partners away from me wtf**

**Boyd:**

**Nice**

 

Derek sighs.

Okay, so, he has no problem with Isaac being in a polyamorous relationship. He remembers one of mom's friends being poly. Him and his partners were Alpha Mates, their Pack was great. He's used to it. Really. His problem is Isaac's girlfriend.

Her name is Allison.

Allison Argent.

As in, the Argent hunting family, the same family that _she_ was from.

Of course, he knows Allison is nothing like _her_. When she found out what had happened, she apologized profusely on behalf of her family. She even cried. It took a while, but Derek eventually got used to the idea of her being around. Does mean he likes that Isaac is dating her, or that Laura had let her into the Pack so easily.

Well, okay. Allison was around for a while before Laura finally let her in. But it's still easy in Derek's book.

It helps that's he looks nothing like _her_.

 

**Me:**

**Hope there are enough cookies left for the Pack meeting tonight.**

**Devil Woman:**

**WOAH**

**DEREK CAN TEXT WHO FUCKING KNEW**

**Boyd:**

**Erica**

**Isaac:**

**Allison promises to keep Scott away from them until then**

**Devil Woman:**

**Ya and who's gonna keep YOU away from them COOKIE WHORE**

**BOSS YOURE ALIVE**

**Me:**

**This is why I don't text you anymore**

 

The smile forming on his face feels stiff and small, but it's certainly there. He hasn't texted the Pack in a while. He hasn't been at meetings for a few months now, and it suddenly hits him how much he misses them all. He used to be so tactile, so used to attention. He loved having the scents of his packmates ingrained in his hair, his clothes.

That's different now.

 

**Devil Woman:**

**So are you actually coming to the meeting this time**

**Or is Laura gonna sit there worrying all night again**

**Isaac:**

**ERICA**

**Me:**

**No**

**It's okay**

**She's not wrong**

**Devil Woman:**

**Admitting you have a problem is the first step Der-Bear.**

**Me:**

**Don't call me that**

 

"Hey!"

Derek looks up. He's not expecting it to be directed at him, but he recognizes that employee - Stiles? - from a few days ago, and the guy smiles when he sees him. "Hey, Derek!"

"Hey." The smile that was forming on his face stays there, strangely enough.

"Glad to see you're stills sober and no longer wreaking havoc on poor, unsuspecting produce sections." He grins, then winces. "God, these are heavy."

"Need some help?" The books Stiles is holding look more like textbooks.

"Yes? If that's not too much to ask, they are pretty - wow, okay, you're strong."

"I, um." He frowns. "I work out?"

"Aren't artists supposed to be broody, pale, skinny hipsters, and not tall, muscular, serial-killer-esk men?" Stiles raises an eyebrow at him. He gestures a lot when he talks, when he's not holding merchandise or heavy books on - what is this, mythology?

"How do you know I'm an artist?" Derek huffs. "What if I'm an accountant, or a real estate agent?"

"Seriously doubt it, dude. Not many accountants walk around with paint all over their faces. Or in their air. Which you still have, by the way. Don't you bathe?"

"Shut up." He grumbles. Stiles laughs, and - okay, so, maybe it's stupid, but he hasn't heard a laugh in a while, and this one sounds amazing. He almost trips as he follows after him, which is - yeah, it's stupid. Laura and Erica would so be laughing at him, if he wasn't so messed up an distant from them, and ruined their relationship a little bit, and -

"So, what do you paint?" Stiles wonders.

"Mostly people." He shrugs. "I get a lot of commissions from people who want me to paint pictures of loved ones. I have some originals up for sale, but most of my money comes from the portraits."

"Are you doing anything right now?"

He thinks back to the paintings of his family he just can't get himself to finish.

"No. I think I've been commissioned by everyone in Beacon Hills, by now."

"Probably not _everyone_." Stiles points toward a beat up, old blue jeep across the parking lot. "That's mine.”

"Is it safe?"

"Rude." Stiles huffs. "You should like sad old things. You're an artist."

"You know artists aren't just hipster asshole, right? We're all messy, either. My studio is very clean, thanks." Or, it was. Before he spilled paint everywhere.

"You could be lying to me right now. I'll have to see this studio to make sure you're telling the truth." Stiles grins. "And, also, see your art. My mom had this friend when I was littler, and she said she was an artist, but it all looked like squiggles to me. I'm pretty sure I had better stuff hanging up on the fridge."

"Some art just takes more time to understand." Derek rolls his eyes. He dumps the books in the passenger seat.

"Thanks. For helping."

"No problem."

Stiles is getting in his car, and Derek feels like maybe he should _do_ _something_ , so. "Maybe I could get your number." He blurts out. "So you can drop by. My studio. If you want. Eventually."

"Um. Yeah. That would be nice." Stiles blinks. He puts his number in Derek's phone, under 'Awesomest Human Ever', which he's still too shocked to actually say anything about. "I'll see you around, Derek."

He doesn't realize until after Stiles leaves that it's the first time he's joked around like that in...a while.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The urge to paint something for himself, for him to keep and no one else, hasn't come to him in over a year. But when he gets to the studio, he suddenly feels like this is one thing he _has to_ do. So he strips off his jacket and his shoes, and grabs his paints and the first empty canvas he sees, and gets to work.

They're hands. They're nice hands, with long, slender fingers, pale tips slightly pink from the cold. Maybe the nails are kind of bitten. Hands resting on glass, something blue -

"Hey!" It's Erica. "Look at you, getting lost in the art or whatever."

"Hi." He blinks, looking around.

He does this a lot. He'll start painting and then he'll blink and he's half done, and it's dark out. Time goes on without him.

"At least you're late for a good reason this time."

"Huh?"

"Everyone's already at your place. Laura sent me to come get you."

"Oh." He glances and the clock and oh wow, yeah, he's so late right now. It's probably best Erica drove over here, because running back would take a while and he really can't risk anyone seeing him.

"Come on." She grabs his jacket.

"Yeah. One second."

 

**To: Awesomest Human Ever**

**(Attached Image)**

**Not just squiggles.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk why but im really not feeling this chapter. It was supposed to be longer, but for some reason writing it was really hard? The next one will be longer for sure, and hopefully it'll be up by Sunday.

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr](http://littleredtheboy.tumblr.com/). Come cry over Stiles with me.
> 
> My [wrting blog](http://stupidgenius24.tumblr.com/) if you have any prompts you'd like me to write
> 
> Chapter Two will up on Friday. Hopefully.


End file.
